Then, with deliberate slowness, he reached for a small black bottle. “I thought you would prefer the gentle way,” he murmured. “Guess I was wrong.” The poison burned down my throat—Deadly Nightshade. It was once my favorite. I had used it to end others. Now, he was using it on me. “Sometimes,” he whispered, “the person you once loved is the one who finally kills you.” ~~~~~ Brinda Virginia’s life has always been a battle—against fate, against her own fire, and against a heart that beats too weakly to match the storm inside her. Abandoned as a child and raised by the only woman who ever truly loved her, she’s now facing her biggest loss yet. Her stepmother is dying. And the clock is ticking—seventy-two hours. That’s all the time she has to save her. But then he returns. Francesco Dante. Her past. Her ruin. A man cloaked in shadows, bearing a twisted bargain—submit to him, body and soul, or lose everything. To save the only family she has left, Brinda must surrender. But submitting, in a world ruled by power, lust, and betrayal, is never truly submission. Because this man doesn’t just want to own her—he wants to unmake her, unravel her, and turn her fire to ash. And the most devastating part? She might just let him. And love, in this kind of story, always draws blood.
View MoreBrinda's POV
“…That’s it. There’s nothing more I can do.” Dr. McMasters’ voice was calm—too calm—like the words didn’t just tear through the last thread of my sanity.
My vision blurred, not from tears—those had long dried up—but from the sheer weight of his finality.
It felt like he had just sealed my fate.
Have you ever been in a situation where it feels like everything you’ve ever known—everything you’ve ever loved—is slipping away right before your eyes?
Have you ever had a near-death experience so real, so raw, that you looked up and asked the heavens why you were still here?
Have you ever searched for answers or for a way out of the storm in your soul—only to find silence?
That… is life.
That… is fate.
Yours can never be mine, and mine can never be yours—not even if we share the same blood. Not even if we were born on the same day.
No matter how hard we try, fate always takes its course—leading us either to destruction or to salvation.
The truth can be buried in the darkest grave. Flesh can burn in the cruelest of flames. But reality… reality always rises. And when it does, it comes to collect.
“You need to start looking for the money, Brinda. There's nothing much the hospital can do.” He said, his voice dropping drastically. I watched closely enough to see that he couldn't stop the tears that he was trying so hard to control.
“Please… I have no one. Who will I turn to?” I asked him, my voice gentle.
“I can't help you. You've just worked with us for a month. Your salary can't cover it nor can the hospital cover your expenses. You have to find a way to save your mother yourself.”
The room fell dead as he threw his words at me before he staggered into his personal bathroom while I gripped the hem of my scrub.
My knees buckled as the door shut behind him. I stood there, caught in a silence so thick it choked me. My thoughts spiraled—how do you process the kind of news that rips your soul from your body?
I pressed my back against the cold wall, willing myself to breathe. My mother... The one person I had left in this world. And now…
She has just been diagnosed with Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease. A condition so cruel, it crushes your lungs while you’re still alive. And she needs surgery. Seventy-two hours. That’s all I’ve been given.
A month ago, I started working in Greenfield hospital after my graduation from college. I was hoping to receive my salary then go on some shopping spree with my mother but that was a dream that would never come true.
Earlier today, I ended my shift and bought some food on my way home. Stepping into the living room, I met my mother coughing and holding on tight to her chest at the same time.
I had to rush her to the hospital here only to be told she has COPD.
And whose fault is it?
Mine!
I had not paid much attention to her for the past few days. I have been so preoccupied with work that I barely had time to focus on her though I noticed that she had lost some weight.
With no family, no friends, no accomplice, I picked up my phone and headed to the ward where my mother was laid but when I got to the entrance, I couldn't enter. The tears that had dried up inside me began to flow out and I covered my mouth to stop me from shouting before I stormed out of the hospital.
Everything is coming to an end…
My breath quickened as I ran further from the hospital building. I headed towards the main road at full speed and when I was about to cross the road, a familiar hand pulled me back.
I bit his hand, instructing him to leave me alone and let me do what I had in mind but he wouldn't. He just remained calm as usual while I dug my teeth into his flesh.
“It's okay. Bite me as much as you can.” Peter whispered his soft manly voice into my ears.
I let out a sigh as I got my sanity back. I pushed back from his body before I covered my mouth with my hands while I stepped backward.
“I'm sorry.”
That was all I could say before I darted towards the main road again but he pulled me back into his warm arms.
“It will be fine.” He muttered, his voice soothing like that of a baby just learning how to speak.
I almost lost a footing but he was able to grab me and carry me in his arms to the nearby roadside eatery. We sat in the dimly lit room before I started to sneeze. He offered me a handkerchief.
“I know you must be devastated with the news. But it's not the end, Brinda.” He wrapped his hands around mine as he crouched down beside me. “You have to live well.”
“I can't let her die.” I teared up again.
“She may not be your biological mother, but she’s the one who raised you. She picked you up from a junkyard when no one else would. She ran with you, hid you, and sacrificed everything for you.”
Peter’s eyes held mine, unwavering. “She didn’t just try her best, Brinda… she became your mother. Through every tear, every scar, every struggle… she made you hers. And if you want her to survive, then you must live to find a solution, right?”
I nodded my head in response.
“And we will find the solution together. How much time do we have left?” He asked, sniffing.
“Seventy two hours,” I retorted.
His face went pale instantly though, he tried to hide it but he has always been a bad liar. He can't lie. He doesn't know how to.
“We will find a way out.”
I watched him move away from my side while I gulped down some water. He raised his phone to his ear, dialing some numbers.
After some minutes, I saw him stomp his feet on the ground in disappointment. He raised his phone up in the air and he was about to smash it on the floor when I shouted his name.
Hearing that, he stilled.
I got to where he was and placed my hand on his shoulder, “I can't watch you grieve like this because of me. It's not worth it. I'm not worth it.”
“You are the one grieving,” tears rolled down his cheeks. “And it's worth it. Is our love not strong enough? Your mother, Sarah, took me as her child. How can I leave you in such a critical time like this? How can I let her die?”
I swallowed hard and closed my eyes simultaneously. “I will find the money. I will be right back. Please, make sure you keep an eye on my mother”
“Where will you go? What will you do? How will you get the money?”He grabbed my arm.
Where do I tell him? No. I can't. Some secrets are better off kept. There is only one solution now and that will be what I will follow. After all, living in this world feels meaningless…
“To the place it all started.”
“She’s awake,” Francesco repeated, his voice cracking under the weight of emotion.Valerie's eyes gleamed with unshed tears as the tray slipped from her hands and clattered to the floor. She rushed to the bedside and gently pushed Francesco aside — though truthfully, he gave way without resistance.She climbed into bed beside Brinda, whose eyes stared blankly, disoriented. Her gaze landed on Valerie’s tear-streaked face. A moment later, Valerie pulled her into a tight embrace.“You… You’re back. Thank you,” Valerie whispered, her voice trembling.Brinda hesitated, her arms hovering before they slowly wrapped around Valerie’s back. “Yeah… I guess,” she murmured.Valerie gently pulled away and tucked a strand of Brinda’s hair behind her ear. “You need a proper bath after this.”Brinda's eyes shifted across the room — landing on Francesco.He was standing strong.Alive.
Francesco bolted to Brinda’s bedside the moment her fingers stirred, those small movements cracking the silence like a thunderclap. He seized her right hand, clutching it tightly as if afraid it would fall still again. Gently, he began to rub her fingers, willing life back into her. His voice trembled as he called out for Valerie.She appeared in seconds, her eyes widening at the sight of Francesco crouched beside the bed like a broken man clinging to a thread of hope. A sheen of sweat shimmered on Brinda’s forehead — for the first time in over a week.Francesco’s knees buckled slightly, the gravity of the moment weighing down his body. His heartbeat echoed like war drums — loud and erratic. Tears welled in his eyes, blurring his vision as he used his other hand to tenderly wipe the sweat from Brinda’s clammy face.Valerie’s instincts kicked in. Without a word, she spun around and darted out of the room, rushing toward the clinic.But when she arrived, the doctor was tending to anoth
Francesco slowly lifted his head, his vision tracing the direction the voice had floated in from. Standing a few feet away, poised with an air of unspoken confidence, was a stunning woman. Her beauty was striking, but it wasn’t her face that first caught his eye — it was the hypnotic sway of her hips as she walked, which was deliberate and unhurried, like she owned the earth beneath her heels.Her eyes locked onto him with piercing intent. Francesco met her gaze which was unreadable and detached. Not even a flicker of warmth betrayed his expression.“Hello, handsome young man,” she said, her voice silk-wrapped and melodic, every syllable laced with a teasing rhythm that crept under his skin.Richard and Valerie shared a knowing glance, their amused smiles giving away far more than they let on. Francesco, composed as always, finally offered a reply, “Hi. I’m Francesco.”“Elara,” she replied, offering her hand with the elegance of someone who was used to being wanted. “Nice to meet you
Francesco pushed the curtain aside as he followed the older woman, Valerie, out of the dimly lit room. The moment his feet stepped onto the porch and his eyes caught sight of the outside world, his breathing caught — sharp and reluctant.The sky was pale and heavy with sorrow, a shade of grey that threatened to split open with drizzle. Before them stretched a quiet expanse of land — a small field shaped by both harvest and heartbreak. The soil looked worn, bruised, like it remembered every footstep of grief that had passed over it.A few figures, mostly elderly, moved slowly across the field with hoes and baskets. Their backs were bent, spines curled like commas at the end of a tragic story. Their hands, cracked and calloused, worked with a rhythm that spoke not of hope, but of necessity. That's speaking of survival. Their bodies carried the memory of too many storms.Off to the far left stood tired houses. Weathered walls slouched under rusted tin roofs. Wooden beams groaned with age
Dominic Russo sat with his legs spread apart, his broad frame soaking in the comfort of the armchair, while Elizabeth lay on his lap, her head resting softly, like a venomous serpent curled around its prey. She tapped his right thigh slowly, rhythmically — each tap echoing the wicked thoughts swirling in her head.Even now, in this quiet moment, she couldn't stop thinking. Her mind never slept. Her thoughts were full of blood, betrayal, and glorious conquest.The past haunted most people.But not her.For Elizabeth Russo, previously Dante, the past was a trophy shelf of victories. A collection of scars she inflicted, not endured.Because what had she ever truly loved in her entire twisted life?Chaos.Destruction.And the intoxicating thrill of winning.“For years,” she began, her voice soft yet sharp like the stroke of a dagger, “I infiltrated the Dante family and fooled Ronald Dante. I started as a maid, washing their dirty plates, sweeping their marble floors... but look at me now.
FrancescoA few minutes after Bullet left, the room grew quiet, save for the distant cawing of birds and the soft creak of wooden beams above my head. The air was thick with the smell of old timber and herbs — a scent that reminded me of forgotten places and quiet grief.And yes… Brinda. I narrowed my eyes towards her direction. She was still sleeping peacefully. Peacefully? How do I know that? But, I think so. I've been feeling the urge to touch her yet, I can't. Or, can I? I shut my eyes as I began to move my hands towards her…Then, the door creaked open gently.The old woman from earlier walked in, her hunched frame steady as she balanced a worn-out tray with both hands. Her wrinkled fingers trembled slightly under the weight, and her footsteps whispered against the dusty wooden floor. The scent of boiled greens hit me before the tray landed, and I instinctively sat up, hope stirring in my gut.My stomach grumbled as my eyes settled on the bowl she placed before me. But the brie
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